Party Pete Regular Show Mga Nobela at Kwento

"Are you sure you want to change your name, Ms. Anderson? You'll have to change your degree certificate, documentation, and passport once you do." Noelle Anderson nods. "I'm sure." The employee tries to talk her out of it. "It's quite troublesome for adults to change their names, and your current name sounds nice. Are you sure you don't want to think about it?" "No, I'm done thinking." She signs the form. "Sorry for the trouble and thanks." "Alright, then. The name you're changing to is… Aria Byrd, right?" "Yeah." Aria Byrd—it means a flight to freedom.

When my wife, Rebecca Walsh, misses my chemotherapy session for the 99th time, I come across a post on social media. "I won my lover's heart with a kidney. She will surely love me to death, right?" The attached photo shows a couple kissing on a street in Targon. The woman has a small heart-shaped scar on her neck. What a coincidence—it is exactly the same as Rebecca's. The woman who nearly dies for me falls in love with someone else so easily. The comments below are full of encouragement from strangers. "Man, you're so brave. Wishing you everlasting love." "If I were the woman, I would love you to death." I leave a comment too. "I hope you are together until you are in the depths of hell, you cheating pair. As for me, the husband, I will step aside to make way for you." One minute later, the post disappears. It doesn't matter. I post on my own account. I write, "After I spent three years battling cancer, my wife fell in love with the man who's supposed to be the kidney donor." The attached images are our marriage certificate and the same photo of them kissing from earlier.

Seven years ended with one ringtone at the altar. One quiet apology, then he walked away to the pregnant ex he once called a mistake, leaving me beneath crystal lights and camera flashes, the perfect discarded bride. Publicly humiliated. I made a decision that shocks them all. I married Adrian, Marcus’s estranged elder stepbrother, the self-made billionaire their father once discarded. Cold. Untouchable. Far more powerful than the heir who betrayed me. Our marriage is a contract. He needs stability to secure his corporate takeover. I need a throne high enough to watch Marcus fall. But our 'fake' touches turn into an obsession neither of us can control. Now I’m carrying Adrian’s child the true firstborn heir of the legacy built on betrayal And this time, I’m not the woman left behind. I'm the prize.

Years after graduation, someone suddenly tags me in the class group chat. "Mr. Warren is gravely ill, Mira. Aren't you going to do anything? You really are heartless!" I only realize what's going on when I click on the fundraising link in the chat. Our high school homeroom teacher, Joseph Warren, has late-stage cancer. Thus, Lyra Fairfield, the class belle, is leading a fundraiser and patient-donor matching process. "I'll donate ten thousand dollars. My husband is the director of Waverly General Hospital, and I've already asked him to arrange a VIP ward for Mr. Warren." Right after I send that message, the group pounces on me. "Mira, you contracted an STD back then and tried to pin it on Lyra. She didn't even hold it against you, and now you're trying to steal her thunder? You're unbelievable!" "I can't believe you're still lying through your teeth during such a serious situation. You never change, do you?" Lyra immediately defuses the tension. "Mira, I don't blame you for what happened in the past, but you really shouldn't impersonate the director's wife. I've already arranged the ward and surgery, and I'm donating another 100 thousand dollars to Mr. Warren!" I'm this close to laughing out of sheer anger. She's the one who scratched her name off the diagnosis report and framed me for having an STD all those years ago. I never even confronted her about it, and now she's playing the victim? Lyra soon posts a photo in the group chat, showing off her husband's car. Yet, when I see the man in the passenger seat, I guffaw. Isn't that my husband's driver? When did he start running a hospital?

The Blood Moon bound me and my three Alpha friends together uncontrollably. By morning, everything had changed. Devlin said it was a mistake. Storm refused to even look at me. Filo rejected the bond completely. The pack called me shameless. A wolfless omega who dared to trap three future Alphas. Then I discovered I was pregnant. Not one of them claimed me. Not one of them claimed our babies. Instead, they chose Lily — the Alpha Elder’s perfect daughter — and stood beside her while the council demanded I get rid of my children. So I ran. The night they cornered me at the Moon Cliff, I would rather die with my unborn pups than let them tear my family apart. But I survived. Three years later, I returned with three extraordinary children carrying the bloodlines of the strongest Alphas in the North. And beside me stood Kael — the ruthless Alpha King of the South. The male who wanted to become the father my children never had. Now the three Alphas who abandoned me are begging for a second chance. Too bad I no longer belong to them.

Human one day, wild beast the next. Maggie’s perfect life is turned into shambles when she is bitten by an injured wolf while hiking. Six months in a mental institution undergoing torturous treatments have left her bitter and out for blood. With a little aid, she escapes and finds herself indebted to her savior, who is after the wolf that changed her life, the elusive Ultima. After years of searching, she finally catches a break. The Alpha’s Freakshow is the key to her freedom, and she finally has a plan. Only one problem, the more time she spends with the Alpha, the more she seems to fall for him. And falling for the man she intends to betray might just be the death of her.  Axel has a checkered past of heartbreak and betrayal. After being exiled, he finds himself an outcast and an alpha with no pack, so he creates one of his own. Axel sought out the misfits within the shifter community and gave them hope again. Banding together, they created a show that brings magic to the humans and money to their pockets. Everything seems to be going well for Axel. That is until his mate shows up and she is picture-perfect, the stark opposite of him. Axel is torn between accepting her and telling her his darkest secret or rejecting her to spare her the pain of what he is.

My boss had a new boyfriend called Eugene Larson. The first day he came to the office, he put on a great show of exerting his dominance. He deleted my number from my boss's phone right in front of me. Eugene waved his phone in front of me while playing innocently. "You can talk to me about anything you need to communicate to Tina, Mr. Sanders. I'll help you pass the message to her. I don't have much sense of security, so please don't mind this. It's to avoid any misunderstanding between us." I was hoping my boss, Tina Kayden, would be able to say something fair on my behalf, but all she did was stare at Eugene approvingly and adoringly throughout the conversation. She turned to me and said, "This is a pretty good plan, Mr. Sanders. Do take good care of Eugene from now on." As there was no way for me to reject her, I was forced to add Eugene's contact to my phone. However, the moment he had my number, he flooded my phone with messages. [Mr. Sanders, is the client you're meeting tomorrow with the surname Charleston a man or a woman?] [Where are you having the meeting tomorrow? Wear something casual tomorrow. It would be best if you avoid washing your face and hair. Otherwise, I would think you're trying to seduce my wife.] [I believe your relationship with Tina is innocent. You're not allowed to betray me because I'm treating you like my buddy!] [By the way, you have an extra duty from now on. You need to remind Tina every 30 minutes to send me a message telling me that she loves me.] As I read these ridiculous messages, I laughed in anger. I put my phone on silent mode and flung it to the side before going to bed. The next morning, I woke up to dozens of missed calls on my phone.

When I was three months pregnant, my Don husband’s so-called step sister, Ruby, showed up at my door. Her swollen belly was impossible to miss, “Donna, since my due date is so close, I thought you should know… the Don’s heir is in my belly.” She laid everything in front of me—intimate photos of her and Caleb, records of the weekly money transfers he sent her, even the deed to a mansion. The earliest dates traced back to the time I lost our first baby, when the doctors told me it would be difficult for me to conceive again. All these years, I had been enduring IVF treatments, desperately trying to carry our child once more—while he was fooling around with his so-called step sister. Well, if Caleb wanted another woman so badly, he could have her. I had no intention of staying anyway. I was already planning my leave.

Scarlet had never had it easy. Growing up in a terrible orphanage led by a corrupted Matron, Scarlet had learned the only way she and her fellow orphans were going to have a better life was if she made one for them herself. Taking on add jobs here and there she quickly gained notoriety within the higher social circles of the influential. Now, hired as a Contract Wife, will this latest mission result in true love? Or will it spell out doom for them both?

My name is Clara Kelly. I was born in Brooklyn, into an Irish-American cop’s family. My father spent his whole career walking a beat out of the 84th Precinct. My mother volunteered at the parish. I was the first girl on our block to get into Columbia Law. The year I graduated, I was volunteering at a charity gala. I picked up the wrong glass of wine and ended up dumping it down the front of a man’s Brioni suit. That man was Adrian Francesco Moretti. Fourth-generation Don of the Moretti Family of New York, and one of the five families of Cosa Nostra. He chased me for four years. I said no six times. The seventh time, he stood outside my law firm in the rain until three-fifteen in the morning. I married him. Two decades in, he’d handed me the keys to the entire Moretti Family. In our world they called me “the Irish Donna,” a woman with no Italian blood who somehow held the seat. Childless by choice, the two of us. Famously in love. Until that Wednesday afternoon, when my college roommate of twenty years, my best friend Vivian Sinclair, walked into my living room with a five-year-old boy. She said the boy was Adrian’s son. She said that five years ago, she’d taken a used condom out of the wastebasket in my upstairs master bedroom, kept it frozen for three years, and done IVF. She said she was the real mother of the Moretti heir. She was the real Donna Moretti. “Be smart. Pack your bags and walk out. You might even get to keep your life.” “You’re barren. The Moretti Family doesn’t need you.” I looked at the woman I’d called my best friend for half my adult life. I didn’t say a word. She thought she was holding the winning card. What she didn’t know was that she’d just stepped onto a board Adrian and I had been laying for twenty years. I needed exactly one sentence to shatter every piece of the Donna fantasy she’d spent five years building.